


Taylor-Made

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Drama, Episode Related, Fluff, Gap Filler, No Slash, Points of View, Romance, Season/Series 03, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-29
Updated: 2004-02-29
Packaged: 2018-12-27 10:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12079032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Brian introspects about Justin's ... clothing; set during the tail-end of season three, during Justin's stint as a fake hustler.





	Taylor-Made

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Brian would never admit it, but he liked Justin clothed nearly as much as he enjoyed him undressed. There was something satisfying about the way the fabrics curved and clung to his boy-ish figure, so that he could be admired from every angle. Sure, said admiration only led to Brian being horny, a situation inevitably cured by taking Justin's clothes off, thus making the entire concept of clothing kind of silly from the get-go; nonetheless, the novelty was still in-tact.

Despite not being told right out, however, Justin could have earned a degree in Brian Kinney-isms, with Honors, besides. He *knew* quite well the effect he had on the older man, and not only because of how quickly Brian's cock hardened when their bodies pressed together. It was the simpler things: the way his lover's fingers clung to his hips; the way his eyes glazed over as Justin doted on his neck, his chest, his lower extremities; the way he smiled as Justin made mewling noises during sex, or snuggled closer to him when they watched "Dirty Dancing" together, or walked in the door just as the blond was putting the finishing touches on dinner.

But still, clothing played a very important role in their relationship as well, Justin knew. He knew that, while Brian complained about his hooded sweatshirts, childish tennis shoes, and unflattering jeans that comprised his regular ensemble for school, dressing up those same childish shoes and stock pants with a soft sweater made his lover hornier faster than an entire stage full of guys at Woody's. He knew his plump bottom being framed by the open flaps of his apron during shifts at the diner drove Brian wild, too, because whenever he stopped in for a quick cup of coffee in the afternoons, the boy never felt the older man's eyes leave his backside. 

"If you don't be careful," Debbie had hissed at him on one such afternoon, "and keep wiggling your cute little cheeks at him the way you so obviously are, you're going to find yourself rolled over on the counter with Brian's dick up your ass." 

Justin had finished his shift that day with a smile on his face and a raging hard-on in his pants. Brian had been very generous about taking care of it for him that evening, too. It had been painfully simple, really; because for all the talk about Brian being hard-nosed and cold-hearted, he oozed passion in the sack. All Justin had to do was flash the older man one of his patented come-hither stares, perhaps a hint of pouty lips and a strategically placed hand or two, and Brian was practically putty; pretty clay, essentially, for him to mold around his perfectly-shaped ass, to have scandalous things whispered in his ear and bronzed limbs wrapped around his own pale body with just the right amount of pressure. Justin knew this, just as much as Brian, but the blond also realized the importance - nay, the craft - of keeping up appearances of the ad exec being in charge, and he gladly relinquished control, so long as his needs were taken care of. And so far, he hadn't been disappointed. 

And really, neither had Brian. For somebody who started out as a one-night stand, a quick fuck to ease the inevitable doomed feeling presiding over him in his last stretch of time as a twentysomething-year-old, Justin had managed to worm himself quite considerably into the cockles of the older man's heart. Justin, dressed in blue plaid and looking for all the world as if he should be in bed sucking his thumb under that street lamp across from Babylon, had been too good to pass up. Brian had never been an English teacher (although he'd fucked one, much to Michael's later dismay), but he knew symbolism when he saw it, and as soon as he laid eyes on Justin, he knew the boy was the last stop on his life-long journey to find the foretold Fountain of Youth; his veritable Holy Grail, as it were. 

Justin kept him young. Sometimes, perhaps, even too young; despite all the Lolita jokes his friends cracked, all the talk of raising *two* babies instead of just the one he'd jacked off in a cup to create for the munchers, Brian knew that Justin was heads-and-tails above most kids his age, maturity-wise, and could really hold his own in age denominations a decade or so his senior. And yet, at times, it was hideously clear that Justin was still painfully, painfully young. When he would walk into the loft in neatly polished dress shoes, grey slacks, and the regulation blue blazer and tie that were all part of his St. James uniform, Brian was never sure whether to feel uneasy about corrupting a child or to just enjoy said corruption as long as it was throwing itself at him in all of its towheaded schoolboy fashion. Quite the hedonist, Brian tended to prefer the latter option. 

Sometimes, though, Justin's age was unforgiveable. Like the time Brian came home from work to find him trussed up in the man's own black see-through top, as if he'd been playing dress-up, only to be caught in his mommy's make-up. It had been ridiculous-looking on him, really, and more than the fact that his shit had been stolen because the boy had carelessly left the loft unattended and unlocked simultaneously, Brian was mad that Justin's appearance couldn't defend him against the man's fear that he had been fucking a goddamned child all this time. And then Justin had run off to New York (childish still), and when Brian caught up with him (Justin was not very good at covering his tracks), the boy had taken off his hotel robe and licked his lips and suddenly, his flushed skin didn't look so juvenile. 

Justin had stuck to his own outfits from then on, and learned to take advantage of the hip-hugging jeans and tiny tight t-shirts that his slight figure allowed him to don. Hair having grown out to form a halo of soft golden curls that masked the pale scar near his temple serving as a forever reminder of his loss of innocence, he was breathtakingly beautiful and quite considerably grown-up now. And while Brian still preferred him nude and wanton and horizontal, the leather jacket and white undershirt the boy - no, the man - wore as he stood next to the window smoking a cigarette had jumped up on the list as a close second; much like Brian's cock. 

"Are you sure you want to do this?" the brunet asked, padding close enough to his lover to encircle his waist from behind. "We can come up with something else." 

"You want to catch the asshole, right?" Justin protested steadily. "Don't worry; if anything starts to go wrong, I'll get out of it." He gazed up at his taller lover, currently gazing down at the crown of his head contemplatively. "Okay?"

"You're really fucking hot, you know that?" Brian replied, again finding himself at a loss for breath. 

"Why, Mr. Kinney," Justin purred, come-hither eyes and pouty lips working overtime. "I do believe you're trying to seduce me." He started to wiggle out of his jacket, but the older man clasped his nimble fingers in stronger, lengthier ones, convincing him to stop.

"Let's leave it on," the brunet suggested lasciviously, tongue running across his lower lip in a blatant display of desire. Not needing to be told twice, Justin snuffed out the smoking end of his cigarette butt on the window sill and fell back into Brian's own denim-clad frame.


End file.
